


You're Finished for the Evening, But I'm Wanting More

by calrissian18



Series: Mating Games [5]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Docking, Extremely Dubious Consent, M/M, Rape/Non-con Elements, Somnophilia, Unrequited (All Around) - Hooray!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-15
Updated: 2013-05-15
Packaged: 2017-12-11 22:38:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/804026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/calrissian18/pseuds/calrissian18
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles is asleep by the time Scott climbs through his window.</p><p>Written for mating_games Challenge 3: Kink Grab Bag.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You're Finished for the Evening, But I'm Wanting More

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Stars', "Violent," because Stars is pretty much the best band ever. In the history of ever. So, yeah.
> 
> I chose the kinks Somnophilia - because, um, how do you pass that up? - and Docking - because I did not know what it was before this challenge. Am I horribly vanilla, guise?! Whatever. I know what it is now! \o/

 

Stiles is asleep by the time Scott climbs through his window.  And, yeah, he's late.  But only by an hour.  He'd been hoping to regale Stiles with his latest successes with Allison, veg out over video games and maybe sleep over.  It was going to be just like old times.

And Stiles has gone and ruined it by falling asleep at ten o'clock on a Friday night.  And even with the bloodthirsty mermaids, it's still fantastically lame.

Scott flops down on the bed next to him, flipping on the tube.  Some soft-core thing is playing.  He reaches down for the half-eaten bag of chips by the side of Stiles's bed.  It's mostly crumbs from being stepped on repeatedly.  Stiles hasn't so much as twitched.  He's always been a heavy sleeper and the regular life-or-death situations weren't hurting the ability.

The girl's down to her bra and Scott glances over but Stiles is out cold.  He decides not to switch it, even when the girl's bare breasted and the guy has his hand down her panties.  He's getting hard and he rubs himself through his jeans, flicking his gaze between Stiles and the screen.

Stiles's mouth is hanging open, his lower lip shiny from the flickering of the television.  His eyelashes are a dark smudge on his cheek and his breaths are snuffling, soft.  He looks effortlessly pornographic.  Scott's focus gets trapped on the swell of Stiles's chest and he hasn't looked back up at the couple on screen in too long.

He bites his lip and turns into the curve of Stiles's body, jerking himself slow as he reaches out and cups Stiles through his pajama bottoms with cautious fingers.  He's half hard.  He pushes into the warmth of Scott's palm with desperate little twitches of his hips.  Scott presses his mouth to Stiles's eyebrow and lowers the waistband of his pants as carefully as he can, one eye on Stiles's sleeping face.

This isn't totally new to them.  They used to get off together when they were younger but it was a practice that had died out after their first year of high school through some unspoken agreement.  Scott's man enough to admit he sometimes misses feeling that close to his best friend.

He takes them both in hand, twisting his fingers around the heads of their cocks.  He watches Stiles's glistening lips slip open with a soft moan.  Stiles has gotten bigger since they last did this and Scott wonders if they could still—if—Scott pulls back his foreskin and presses the head of his cock to Stiles's, stifling a whimper as his hips jump forward involuntarily.  He grips Stiles tight, sees his mobile mouth break open around a gasp.

He rolls his foreskin over Stiles's cock, fitting it under his skin, feeling it twist around the head of his cock with a broken little moan.  It's always felt _more_ to him than Stiles, since he was the one who was uncut, since he's the one who has sensitive, untouched glans to rub up against.  To Stiles it had always been more about the visual, seeing himself under Scott's skin, fitted inside Scott's body.

It's intimate and erotic and _theirs._ Scott has never had anything like this with Allison and he doesn't want this with Isaac.  It's only Stiles he's ever felt this close to, or wanted to.

He strokes them off, holding Stiles tight to him, never wanting to let him go.  Stiles is thrusting into him now with each drag and drop of Scott's hands.  Scott pulls him in by the small of his back, getting him as close as possible.  He presses a kiss to the corner of Stiles's mouth, wanting to drag that plump and taunting lower lip in between his teeth but he's afraid it might be enough to wake him.

He's beautiful like this, sleep-warm and pliant, and the _feel_ of him, inside of Scott.  It's too much and Scott wants to make Stiles _come_.  "Stiles," Scott pants into his ear.  Stiles groans and arches into him and Scott can feel the pulse of his dick throbbing next to his own, under it, around it.  He's so close.  Beyond close.  And Scott wants to feel it.

Stiles's whole body goes stiff and tense.  Something _hot_ explodes under Scott's skin, wraps around his cock and prickles down his shaft.  Scott's never been so turned on in his life.  Stiles's mouth is slack and wet around broken words.  He repeats them while Scott strokes his hair and worries the skin of his jaw between his teeth.  "In," he says.  "Want it in—inside."

Scott's dick  _throbs_ against the soft warmth of Stiles's stomach and he wants that.  He wants Stiles.  Scott pants against Stiles's neck.  It slams him hard in the chest, robbing him of breath, and how long has he wanted this?  He caresses Stiles's lower lip with his thumb and wonders how long he's been in love with his best friend.

He rolls Stiles over gently, skimming his hand over his shoulders, pressing his mouth against the hard line of bones under skin.  He pushes two fingers inside him and Stiles whines, a sharp nasally sound, and eases back into Scott's body.  They fit together perfectly.  "I can feel you under my skin," Scott whispers against Stiles's ear.  It's still cooling under his foreskin.  A strange part of him - the wolf part, he guesses, wants to keep that piece of him there forever, hold onto his scent and his sex that way.  He's going to fuck Stiles with his own come and he's afraid he's going to lose it at the _idea of that_ before he gets Stiles loose enough for him.

He works a third finger into him and Stiles gives off a wounded sort of noise.  Scott gentles and slows as he stretches him, making soothing noises into Stile's neck.  He's barely pulled out before he's sliding back in with his cock.  Running his hand over Stiles's chest and stomach, impaling him on his cock, holding still as he lets Stiles adjust to him.

Stiles is letting out whuffing little breaths, his sleep-heavy body moving with the rhythm of Scott's.  Scott thrusts into him, exploring every plane of Stiles's body with his hands, wanting to know it as well as he knows his own.  He wants this, not just in this stolen moment, but always.

It doesn't take much before he's coming inside Stiles, burying himself deep inside his body, marking him as Scott's.  And he is.  He has to be.  Because Scott isn't sure he can live without this now.

He holds Stiles tight around his chest, pulling him back into the protective curve of Scott's body.  He presses kiss after kiss to Stiles's shoulder as he holds him through the tremors of his orgasm.  Scott drifts on the edge of sleep while Stiles groans and Scott slips out of him with a whine.  Stiles snorts and snuffles and rolls over, curling into Scott's body.  He shoves his head up under Scott's chin, pressed close.  His breath is warm and damp.  His lips brush Scott's collarbone.  And he says softly, adoringly:

"Derek."

**Author's Note:**

> [Come to me](http://wellhalesbells.tumblr.com/). I'm not one of those assfaces who has endless scroll either. I want you to eventually escape the sinkhole that is tumblr. Unless _you_ choose to set up camp in its deep dark depths, hang up your pictures composed of feels and Hoechlin's stupid perfect face and nourish yourself on the dripping wet Dylan O'Brien pics I obsessively reblog. No judgment here.


End file.
